


Dear Umbrella

by Jberry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 100 cake jokes per chapter, BlancheDuke is fantastic, Cake, Crack, Cybersex, Dear John Fandom, Epistolary, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Hey Jude, How the hell are we going to write the rest of this, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Love You, I need to imbed images, M/M, Multiple Languages, Mycroft's Umbrella, Parody, Unrealistic Sex, amazon is going to be confused on why links come back to this page, atiki thinks jurgbury is sweeter than cake-flavoured lubricant, beans on toast, cake lube perfume, creme rinse - Freeform, dating website, do you guys even read the tags? or do you just make sure there's porn?, i can't believe people are still reading this, im selecting random tags that pop up, jurgbury thinks atiki is the bee's knees, neither one of the authors is british, no umbrellas were fucked in the making of this fic, or maybe I dont, prostate limo, spotted dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 13,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jberry/pseuds/Jberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes has a crush on Greg Lestrade, but he thinks it won't be reciprocated. He joins an anonymous dating website. His handle is limo_to_the_prostate. He starts chatting with Umbrella. Not realizing that Umbrella is really Greg Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wednesday, Nov. 19th

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopelesslybenaddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslybenaddicted/gifts), [DarlingSupreme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingSupreme/gifts), [Atiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiki/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Dear Umbrella 亲爱的伞先生](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350324) by [Ivylui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivylui/pseuds/Ivylui)
  * Inspired by [Dear John](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979) by [wendymarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe). 



> This is a crazy idea that came to me while reading the comments of chapter 63 of Dear John - that Mycroft's dating profile handle is limo_to_the_prostate (thanks, hopelesslybenaddicted!)
> 
> A complete parody of Dear John to help me deal with the hiatus. Wendymarlowe's work is wonderful. Go read hers. 
> 
> Also, I am trash.
> 
> I had to change my pseud and Atiki disappeared as co author and I can't re-add. If you look at Jberry other works you can figure out who I am (was).

Dear Umbrella, 

So. Initiating contact on a dating site with an Umbrella seems like it would be quite strange, doesn't it? Though, I do appreciate how this site keeps everything confidential. I hope you're willing to look past the lack of photos on either of our sides to give this relationship a chance. I happened to pick your profile as you are a 

1) male 

and I rather 

2) like umbrellas - 

I was sad to find the username Umbrella already taken. So, I thought I'd chat with you. 

A hookup is not appealing to me. Mainly, because I am very busy. I enjoy cake, working on various parts of the British government, exiling my brothers to the far corners of the world (which may or may not be true.) I am not sure of your sexual prowess, so in an attempt to be funny, one of my brothers (who may or may not be exiled at the moment) has locked my profile to the name 'limo_to_the_prostate.' I am unsure if that term fits me in any way, shape, or form, but we can at least work through it over the keyboard where I won't need to prove it. 

I do promise to be entertaining, so long as you don't bore me, and if you write me back. 

Yours most sincerely, 

limo_to_the_prostate


	2. Friday, Nov 21st

limo_to_the_prostate:

Yea, I really don't knowhat to say to you, honestly. I don't want to get your hopes up. A super anonymous website with super anonymous handles with no pictures seems a bit weird, doesn't it? One of my mates (coworkers) bullied me into creating this site. I guess I've been moping around. Thought this would be a good distraction. 

I was in a kind of relationship....crush....for a while but the person didn't reciprocate. Too busy. 

I'm not sure how I feel about umbrellas, honestly. I mean, I was a poncho person my whole life, but I have liked some umbrellas, found them nice to look at. So, I'm kind of mixed up on the whole water-repellant clothing thing. I might arse out on you half way in this thing (and if so, you can have my username Umbrella). I mean, there's one particular umbrella that I really liked, but.... well, that was the exception. 

I work, I read, I mope about, I listen to this crazy coworker of mine spout theories and post pictures and messages on his wall*. My life isn't very exciting at the moment. 

Umbrella 

*And by wall I mean the crazy son of a bitch just tapes shit on his walls. With string and thumb tacks. I tried introducing him to Evernote or Microsoft but he won't hear of it. 

** Have you heard the code phrase 'Rebooting is for cheesecakes?' **


	3. Mon. Nov 24th

Dear Umbrella, 

Apologies for taking so long. I occassionally leave my cake on my router and it leaves me without internet access. My job can be quite taxing and cake is a necessary evil in this line of work. 

I consider myself difficult to define (I don't recall if you asked me about myself, but I'm just assuming you find me interesting). I love annoying my brother(s) [Don't ask me what happened to the other one] I am not humble, I speak 8 languages, I live in London but spend my time with a lot of corgis (deduce that how you'd like). 

 

It sounds like you have eccentric friends. Tacking and taping items up on the wall? Isn't that terribly boring?   
Do you need some help making it more exciting? Or taking care of the issue?

I've heard Baskerville may be a good place for your friends to visit. 

 

limo_to_the_prostate

** If I'd heard of the code phrase 'rebooting is for cheesecakes' do you think I would tell you? **


	4. Wed. Nov 26th

limo_to_the_prostate:

That's funny. I haven't thought about Baskerville in a long time. I have some memories of explosions and glowing bunnies, but that's really as far as I got. The people I was with when I visited where really exceptionally terrible. 

So do you have a favorite kind of cake? That's all I know about you, is that you like umbrellas, you're smart, and you like cake. That could be 3/4s of the British male population. I'm gray haired (some call me the silver fox, if I may say so myself), clean shaven, and I seem to grow more handsome the older I get. No, honestly, I can show you progress photos. It's quite strange. 

Are you not allowed to talk about the cake?

Umbrella 

** I'll just assume that 'rebooting is for cheesecakes' is a super secret code word that shouldn't have come down to my level of work and leave it alone. I'm sure the statute of limitations will run out anytime. Since cheesecakes and cake keep coming up in our conversations, I'm going to assume you're a super secret cake spy. **


	5. Friday Nov 28th

Dear Umbrella:

Nothing to do with cake, unfortunately. Some aspects of my job require me to be secretive about the cake, and the types of cake involved, hence my lack of photos and inclination to be camera shy. I don't think I'm doing anything with the cake that you would disapprove of. 

I am not supposed to say where I've been lately, but let's just say there was no cake, just piles of apple and pumpkin pie. Vile. 

 

Here is a list of my favorite things:

suits that make me look smug

umbrellas (you knew that)

staying away from my parents (sending them to Oklahoma works)

tea alone in a very large room with mood lighting with a very long table

 

I am imagining you as a silver fox with no facial hair. I am quite fond of silver foxes with no facial hair. For what the opinion of a relative stranger with a perverted dating site handle is worth. 

limo_to_the_prostate


	6. Sun Nov 30th

limo_to_the_prostate:

Is it possible to die in a cake accident? Eating too much cake? 

For me, these are my favorite things:

 

correcting people on my first name. 

standing around with my mouth hanging open

standing around looking handsome 

falling down stairs in dim lighting 

 

It sounds like you don't like your brother(s) or your parents. Do you have any other family? I have an ex-wife and a cat the kids didn't want to take care of. I should probably feed the cat, actually. 

 

Umbrella


	7. Tues Dec 2nd

Dear Umbrella,

People don't actually die from too much cake. If so, we wouldn't be exchanging these letters. 

Someone did die by having a large pan of cake batter dumped on their toe. It caused gangrene and a blood infection, which they later died from. Seemed like a waste of perfectly good cake batter to me. 

Maybe I can introduce my brother to your ex-wife? I'm not entirely sure if my brother is straight, gay, or is only into Harlequin Pirate Romance novels, but it might be an interesting experiment. 

I ought to run - I have a meeting with said brother and I need to think of things to say that will lead him to want to strangle me within two minutes (a new record) and I’m going to need some time beforehand to mentally prepare- eat a cupcake for me? I'm on a new diet.

\- Limo_to_the_prostate


	8. Thurs Dec 4th

Dear Limo, (the rest of it is too ridiculous this early in the morning)

I very much doubt your brother would be ex-wife's type - she’s mostly interested in crochet and having sex with my kids' cricket coach. In that order, unfortunately. 

After my ex-wife, I realized I was in love with a man, which I've tried to keep secret. Seems better to talk about it here. Where the government and public can't laugh at it, you know?

You should probably know, your love of cake and umbrellas, and your annoying brother, you remind me of him a lot, actually. His name is Mycroft and I only ever talk to him a few times a month, but I've fallen head over heels. He's gone all the time on a super secret mission, so I'm here. Alone. In an empty flat. With my ex-wife's cat. (That rhymed!)

Anyway. He's not an ex boyfriend, just an ex super mysterious guy who wears nice suits and has a posh accent. There are plenty of those around, so you'd think I could find someone else, you know?

Just wanted you to know. Not that you were asking, just seemed like a good time to bring it up. 

\- Umbrella


	9. Tues Dec 9th

Dear Umbrella,

I genuinely don’t know what to say, and that's something, as I usually talk quite a bit. In a condescending tone. I’m sorry for your, affections, not being returned, and that all you've got left is a cat and a bad taste in your mouth about cricket. 

I am hoping I'm not reading too much into this, but besides the nice chat, maybe this will grow into something more? However, the man you describe sounds amazing, dashing, handsome, precious, endearing, noteworthy, delicious, distinguished, magnanimous, brave, bold, beautiful, moisturized, equipped, educated, fancy, carefree, cultured, quick-witted, and gorgeous. 

That is an extremely high pole for any man to swing around. 

Regardless of how this progresses, hearing from you in these notes is a nice distraction. You aren't boring me, which is a surprise. It's actually the high point of my day, besides the point where I go umbrella shopping.

\- Limo_to_the_prostate


	10. Wed. Dec 10th

Dear Limo,

No worries. I would be mad to expect anyone to fill the Mycroft sized pole in my life - there is just one of him and he's too busy. I just keep trying to remind myself that I'm lucky to know of him. I'm throwing a bachelor Christmas with a friend of mine. He swears he's not gay but he was in love with his flat mate. (Said flat mate killed himself, but I wouldn't be surprised if the flat mate is):

• Pretending to be married for a case  
• Pretending to be some guy named William on a dating site  
• Texting him about dolphin sex  
• Taking medicine for a brain tumor  
• Winning an academy award for Kanizsa  
• Taking cycle suppressants  
• Going to meet a hot army doctor in Afghanistan and sleep with everyone in the ranks  
• Raising a clone of himself as his child

These are just a few things the flat mate may or may not be up to. Regardless, I'm going to have a good bachelor Christmas with this friend, and we will try to forget about the flat mate. 

Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Pretending to be married for a case: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2095674 OR http://archiveofourown.org/works/2095674  
> • Pretending to be some guy named William on a dating site http://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979/chapters/6744731  
> • Texting him about dolphin sex http://archiveofourown.org/works/1967874/chapters/4258656  
> • Taking medicine for a brain tumor http://archiveofourown.org/works/210785  
> • Winning an academy award for Kanizsa http://archiveofourown.org/works/225563/chapters/341590   
> • Taking cycle suppressants: http://archiveofourown.org/works/918903/chapters/1783999 OR http://archiveofourown.org/works/1538393 OR http://archiveofourown.org/works/380265/chapters/621251  
> • Going to meet a hot army doctor in Afghanistan and sleep with everyone in the ranks http://archiveofourown.org/works/180121/chapters/264839   
> • Raising a clone of himself as his child http://archiveofourown.org/works/729134


	11. Thurs. Dec 11

U: Hey, you there?  
U: I just found that this site has a chat function. I was looking up crème rinses for silver hair and hit the wrong button on the site.   
LTTP: Yes, I see that.  
U: Never noticed it there before. NOT SURE WHAT TIME ZONE YOU'RE IN OR IF IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT sorry for caps. I get excited about crème rinses.  
LTTP: Understandable. To keep this incognito I'd rather not say what time it is here.   
U: What are you up doing?  
LTTP: knasdknfdautiowenrjwnbdfs  
U: What was that?  
LTTP: Sorry, other hand was eating a piece of cake.   
U: Is that a euphemism?  
LTTP: No…. I can't type and do something else at the same time, apparently.   
U: And by something else you mean….  
LTTP: eat cake, obviously  
U: *eye roll*  
LTTP: Did you just roll your eyes at me?  
U: Yes. Yes I did.   
LTTP: Well, can you type and eat cake at the same time?  
U: If 'eat cake' can mean something else, yes. As a hot blooded male I sure as hell can.  
LTTP: What else would it mean?  
U: Oh for god's sake  
LTTP: I don't understand.  
U: What do most men do one handed on the computer….  
LTTP: Eat? I still don't understand.   
U: You should put that on a T-Shirt. Your actual name isn't "John" is it?   
LTTP: No, my name isn't John. Why would I put 'Eat?' on a T-shirt?  
U: ……….  
LTTP: What?  
U: Goodnight, limo. Let's talk again when you've had more sleep.   
LTTP: I still don't understand.  
U: Goodnight.


	12. Fri Dec 12

Dear Umbrella,

My apologies if I gave the wrong impression during our chat yesterday. I'm a little bit awkward when it comes to talking with someone quickly, and I wasn’t sure if crème rinse meant something else. Or if cake meant something else? I can be quite dense sometimes when it comes to interacting with other people. Hence the reason for the dating website. And the time delay between emails. That way, I am not caught unawares while eating, and I have time to formulate something witty to say. 

Usually, when I am caught unawares, I like to take people to a nice date in a warehouse. Leaning on my umbrella. Attempting to look frightening, but not really looking that way. 

I'm sitting in an airport, waiting on a private plane, and I'm watching a television with Anderson Cooper on it. He is a good looking silver-fox type. Obviously uses crème rinse. 

Being bored with all these terrible people, all the touching, and all I can think of is the desire to communicate with you. Sadly, the café is out of cake. 

\- Limo


	13. Sun, Dec 14th

Dear Limo,

I’m spending a quiet evening alone with my crème rinse and I’ve been thinking. We’ve been doing this chatting thing for a while now and it’s about time I investigate your sexual history. I’m quite good at investigating. Not as good as that crazy fucker who tapes shit on his walls, but still.

I feel like I could easily spook you with this, especially since you’re too awkward to function and you kinda hate people. I mean I’m still not sure what you’re actually into. Is it exclusively men? Baked goods? Women? Latex umbrella handles? I want you to know that I don’t care what makes your... cake area tingle down there. Even if you hump your umbrella late at night, I'd still be fine with it. I'm very tolerant. (I have this bloke on forensics who’s alarmingly fond of dinosaurs and I employ him anyway. And crazy fucker with shit on his walls, I don't know about him either. Might be gay or attracted to Erlenmeyer flasks.)

I hope you don’t find this too straightforward, but I had a normal youth, which means in my adolescence I shagged pretty much everything that moved. Then I met my wife, she constantly cheated on me with various teachers and I got a divorce eventually. I’m good at football and have approximately five children, but they’re a minor plot device so let’s forget about them. Anyway. I dated sporadically after my divorce, got a nickname from my colleagues: “Not Our Division”. That means I’m not allowed to bang them.

None of this actually matters because I’m still in love with that well-moisturized government bloke. God, I hope you’re tall, ginger and mysterious, otherwise you’ll never keep up with him. I enjoy the flirting, though. I find abductions very romantic.

So how about you?

\- Umbrella         


	14. Mon Dec 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U: jurgbury   
> LTTP: Atiki

U: is this working?

LTTP: I do think so, yes. It might actually be more convenient to answer your questions like this than in a lengthy message.  
  
LTTP: I am quite busy. You must know that there is cake I must attend to. And a minor military conflict in Belarus. But let's do this.

U: Sounds good. The cake, I mean. I feel badly about your situation in Belarus.

U: You were asking, earlier, about when I knew I liked creme rinse more than anything in the world. Well, I don't read as liking creme rinse, but I guess I was never attracted to anything else.

LTTP: Charming. My personal proclivities include (but are not limited to): Classical music, pineapple cake, umbrellas, atomic submarines, Colin Firth and donuts. I found out in my teenage years that my attraction to none of those objects was reciprocated.

U: I'm really shocked Colin Firth didn't reciprocate. I guess, I'm glad, but he seems like he would be just your type. Dark haired, skinny, british, wearing a white shirt, jumping into a lake, the aforementined shirt sticking obscenely to his body *eyebrow wiggle*

LTTP: This is not how you spell "aforementioned". But yes, it was a tragedy. I briefly contemplated having him assassinated for ignoring my advances. I decided against it, though. Mummy would have been cross.

LTTP: I appreciate obscenely sticking things, but I do not approve of wiggling in my presence. Did you seriously just wiggle your eyebrows?

U: I could wiggle something else, if you'd like me to. And yes, spelling apparently isn't my strong suit today. I was distracted by thinking about Colin Firth in the pond. Or, imaginging you in the AFOREMENTIONED pond. Wet. In a white shirt.

LTTP: What could I possibly want you to wiggle? And what is it with people's obsession to stand wet in ponds? As far as I know it wasn't only Colin Firth who did this. l only recently saw a photo of this actor who looks like a sophisticated Enhydra Lutris, seductively unbuttoning his shirt in a pond. And you are the second person to imagine me in a pond today. Although I think the other one was fantasising about drowning me with his bare hands after I stole his last cupcake.

U: You really are terrible at this flirting thing. It's kind of endearing, really. I would want my hands on you for a different reason entirely. I know the photo you're talking about. Ridiculous. He should have been eating a cupcake instead of standing up in a pond. Cupcakes are far sexier.

U: I just thought of something. My pet name for you. Wet cupcake.

LTTP: Have asked my assistant for advice on flirting. I believe I understand what you intend to wiggle for me. I am not opposed.

LTTP: Wet cupcake? This is ludicrous. What am I supposed to call you? Wiggling silver fox?

U: I wouldn't be opposed. I am just not sure of what you look like. I've just gotten glimpses of you by your descriptions. I know you like umbrellas, cake, smug suits. Do you have hair? Is it curly, straight? Are you tall, short?

U: I've described myself, I think. I hope my descriptions do myself justice. If we ever meet. And yes, I would wiggle for you. In person, if I could.

LTTP: I do have hair. Not ridiculous amounts of it, but it's definitely there, I checked. And it's straight, unlike the rest of me. Did you just suggest a personal meeting?

U: Not to be too forward. But yes, I would like to meet you in person. My heart still hurts sometimes over Mycroft, but no one can compete with him. I've found myself thinking about you more lately. My wet cupcake. ;-)

LTTP: I suppose I could do with a bit of companionship by someone who is neither edible nor in the possession of an absurdly high number of Corgis.

LTTP: So, in conclusion, my dear silver creme rinse fox, I would really like to meet you. Have conversations. Possibly wiggle together, if we feel particularly daring.

U: Agreed. Goodnight, or good morning, my wet cupcake. I will talk, or *wiggle* to you later.

LTTP: Goodnight, Umbrella. Give my regards to your crème rinse.


	15. Wednesday, Dec. 17th

Dear "Wet Cupcake":

It was nice chatting with you the other day. It was nice, taking everything by "Bites" rather than gobbling everything all at once. (do you see what I did there?)

Work was crazy. I had to take the tube. Some robbers in clown masks got away with robbery. Again. I kicked my car tires so hard one popped. I didn't know I had that much strength. 

And I ran out of creme rinse. So, my hair was not at silvery gorgeous, and it made me miss you. I know you can't tell me much about you, but me being the creme rinse to your cupcake makes me feel closer to you

We talked, or hinted, about possibly meeting. I found myself nearly getting pushed over into a dumpster because I was daydreaming of you. Everything is pretty boring here. I mean, I've got random kids I see sometimes, and annoying gits at the met, but I want to be prepared to meet you. Buy creme rinse, and cupcakes, in bulk. I find myself staring at every man carrying an umbrella, looking to see if he possibly is munching on a piece of cake. 

But I guess if it's raining, the cake would wash away, just like my creme rinse. Ce la vie. 

I'm sorry if I seem as if I'm rambling. My mind is somewhere else, I guess.

Umbrella


	16. Thur, Dec 18

Dear Umbrella,

I do see what you did there and I appreciate the effort. References to cake always lighten my mood.

I am very sorry to hear that robbers in clown masks got away with robbery. Your tyre-popping strength, however, intrigues me in various ways. Maybe you could give me a demonstration someday.

You daydreamed yourself into a dumpster? I sympathize entirely. I cannot stop daydreaming about myself either. I am impeccably moisturized and extremely well-equipped today. I am flattered that you are trying to recognise me among strangers, but considering that a) around seventy-eight per cent of British males tend to like cake and b) at least sixty-nine per cent prefer umbrellas to raincoats, there is a distinct possibility that a random cake munching, umbrella carrying specimen is not me. That is indeed very sad.

Apart from that, I find myself thinking about you as well. I accidentally blew up a military base in Cornwall this morning because I was busy fantasizing about your crème rinse refined silver hair. I have a strong urge to touch and explore. (Your hair, that is. Not the soldiers in Cornwall. Although I am quite fond of uniforms.) I experience a strange sensation in my lower abdomen whenever I think of you that is threatening to form into full-blown affection. (Or purulent appendicitis. Both would be slightly inconvenient, albeit interesting. Next time you fling yourself down stairs in dim lighting, I would like to catch you. Would that be a socially accepted romantic gesture?)

Maybe we should introduce my cake to your crème rinse when we meet. I would most certainly be worth a try.

\- limo_to_the_prostate

 

P.S. C’ _est_ la vie? Chéri Parapluie, tes connaissances linguistiques sont justement affreuses. Nous rectifierons cette… insuffisance le plus tôt possible. Je suis sûr que cette nation a inventé la guillotine pour ceux qui omettent le prédicat dans les phrases affirmatives. Nom de Dieu!


	17. Saturday, December 20th

Dear Limo, 

I don't speak French. I learned some Spanish in school, but oddly, no French. I knew you were cussing me out, or telling me I had screwed up somehow. But I couldn't get the main gist of what you said. Even when you're yelling at me, I don't mind so much. 

I never did enough traveling to warrant learning a lot of other languages. I would like to go to Canada. Seems like a laid-back place. Close to America, but less murder-y. 

I don't understand what I feel for you. I mean, all of this back and forth bantering, arguing about ridiculous things, looking for you in everyone I see (I know I'm not supposed to, and you've told me it's futile, but I can't help it.) Every bit of me thinks about you, and what your smug suit or umbrella or your cake preference might be. I've never really cared what people think about my preferences are. However, as the time gets closer, where you could be returning to London, I find myself afraid and scared. In the public eye, though I'm not really a celebrity, there has never been a need for me to declare my sexual preference. I've never gone out and said, in public, "I love cake!" or "I love rubbers!" or "I love brollys!" 

I'm terrified that I will fuck up this relationship and I will have put myself out there, that I love cake AND creme rinse, that I love ponchos AND umbrellas, that I love smug looking suits AND jumpers, and I will be judged. And after I'm judged, it will turn out that we weren't that good of a match to begin with. As a minor celebrity, who has had a very secret crush on a man who holds a minor post in the British Government, I am terrified. I am frightened. I am even finding it difficult to admit this to even you, even though we don't know our true identities. When we meet, will I be brave enough to put everything aside I've said about myself? Why would you even be interested in me? 

I'm not backing out, I'm far too interested in you to do that at this point, but I feel the need to kick more tyres and photograph myself again. 

Umbrella

Has visto la película 'El Caso Curioso de Benjamin Button?' Soy tan guapísimo que me parece esa película es basado en mi vida. Durante la película, la protagonista se parece a convertir más y más guapo cada año. Como yo.


	18. Also Saturday Dec 20th

Limo:

Por favor, ignore the last email, ok? I hadn't gotten enough sleep, and I was missing you (or how I imagine you) and we ended up in a mess. I am embarrassed. 

If _I'm_ embarrassed, it's bad, because I have done _a lot_ of stupid things. 

I'm going to put my feet on my desk and drink some coffee and eat a doughnut. Here's to hoping nobody interrupts me, 

Paraguas


	19. Sun, Dec 21

Querido Paraguas,

We will work on your French skills. My brother and I grew up quadrilingual (English, French, German and Troll, although I have been suspecting for quite some time that that last one was just our father grunting in his sleep -- Mummy was most insistent about it being an actual language.) I am also fluent in Spanish, Italian, Latin, Ancient Greek, Swahili, Parseltongue, Russian and an elegant Bavarian dialect.

Personally, I travel more than I would actually like to. I have been to two-hundred and sixteen countries so far. (This may sound strange to you because según las Nationes Unidas (y Google) no hay mas que ciento noventa y seis, pero créeme Paraguas, tù no sabes que pasa verdaderamente.) Lots of the travelling I do is work related. – I despise airports, as well as train compartments, people, cheap food and generally everything that doesn't involve either my comfortable chair in my comfortable office or your crème rinsed hair. It’s a struggle.

I won’t ignore your first mail and I do understand what you’re talking about. As much as I enjoy our banter and multilingual, ah, I believe the terminus is “affectionate teasing”, I appreciate a serious conversation from time to time. Like you, I am not very open about my sexuality. Most people are either not interested, politely disgusted, or too frightened to initiate this kind of conversation with me. My brother likes to mock my fondness for all kinds of cake, but apart from that I am a very private person. (Funnily enough, my brother gets alarmingly exited about British military uniform caps and I have yet to remind him of the fact that I know it. I’m far too warmhearted.) Anyway, I have also never felt the need to go out and shout: “Colin Firth eating pineapple cake on an atomic submarine makes me go off like a missile.” I sympathize entirely.

I promise I’m not backing out either. I am very fond of you, your hair, your crème rinse, your sense of humor and your tyre-popping eruptions of violence. And as much as I hate to admit it, I am terrified as well. Also terribly intrigued.

\- limo_to_the_prostate

P.S. Allora, non l’ho visto ancora, però l’ho scaricato immediamente. Legalmente. Infatti tutto quello che faccio è legale perché io sono la legge. Io e questa seniora strana con i Corgis. Non dubito che sei carinissimo! (Quest’è la bella lingua Italiana, per la tua informazione.)


	20. Mon, Dec 22nd

Limo to the Prostate:

I had a funny thought today. If you were a rapper, would you go by Limo-P? Or, possibly, Prostate West? Limo to the P-Diddy? 

It's amazing the thoughts that cross your mind when you are sleep deprived and the object of your affections has decided that you don't exist. I saw Mycroft today and I swore I was over him, especially since I've been loving my talks with you, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw him. I just want to be honest with you. 

I find it strange we haven't talked about Christmas. I get the sense from you that you aren't particularily religious, so I'm not sure if you celebrate Christmas. Since I am alone, and my 8-12 children (give or take 5 divisible by 15) are with my ex-wife, I'm going to have a bachelor Christmas with a friend of mine. Nothing to be jealous of. He's the bloke I've mentioned that is arse over tea kettle for his roommate, so we'll probably spend the whole time talking about him. As usual. Everything seems to revolve around him and his cheekbones and coat collars and all. 

I'm amazed at you, and I find myself feeling, well, quite stupid. You're obviously a genius, and I imagine you're quite gorgeous. I feel somewhat, actually far, out of my league. I can't believe you can speak Parseltongue. Isn't that the really rare language from Africa that only involves all the clicking and whistling? On top of that, if you can speak troll, I'd love to hear you speak that. I find myself imagining you saying such dirty things to me in all the different languages you speak. 

Hopefully I'll get you hear you in person, 

Umbrella


	21. Tues. Dec. 23rd

Umbrella:

Did I break you? Was there extra chemicals in your creme rinse formula? I am very concerned. 

I am not looking forward to Christmas, either. I have to spend it with my family, and the time does drag on when they're involved. My brother invites tramps, ladies of the night, and undercover assasins. Though one year he did invite an entire traveling circus. Even with all his excitement, the holiday is still terribly tedious. And my parents manage to mess up the Earl Gray so it tastes like old leaves boiled in socks. 

I've got to spend my day trying to keep two large babies from fighting over their toys in the sandbox. The Parseltongue for this is "čnyjikxęèëįîoجدسشعورتےےییئیچشقفگیےھگططھجخخ Which basically means no good. The troll is ⬆️⬇️⬅️➡️.

I must admit that I've been missing you, though I haven't met you. The person ignoring you isn't worth your time. This is coming from someone who ignores countries for a living. 

P-Limo


	22. Wed. Dec 24

Limo_to_the_Prostate:

It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve, does it? Feels actually as if Valentine's Day just happened a few weeks ago. I guess my time clock is all messed up. Like on Dr. Who. 

I'll have to remember "čnyjikxęèëįîoجدسشعورتےےییئیچشقفگیےھگططھجخخ" as a good word for "all messed up." However, no idea how I will pronounce it. I may just growl or something instead of trying to formulate that word. 

I am not sure where you are, or what time zone you're in, but I do wish you a Merry Christmas. I hope your holiday is at least tolerable, or exciting, whichever you prefer. I hope no one gets put to sleep with punch, and no one shoots anyone else on a porch, and that no one has to leave on a plane to Syria or timbucktoo. (If that is a place. Which it may not be. You would know.)

I'm going to get extremely drunk with the man who is in love with his flatmate. Who thinks he's not but he is. It'll be fun to pick on him and see how much he'll admit when drunk. Might even have him drunk dial said flatmate. I'll tell you what happens. Should be pretty funny. 

I had a piece of angel food cake today. With strawberries and whipped cream. I thought about you. 

Stay sweet and moist, 

Umbrella


	23. Very Early Morning Thurs Dec 25

Umbrella:

Very Merry Christmas. 

I am sure it will be a good day (as much as a day full of figgy pudding and good cheer can be).

Today I wish I could call or text, but just be thinking of me. I'll be thinking of you. I bought a hairnet and a new wide tooth comb for myself for Christmas. I thought of you, and what I imagine your silvery fox hair looks like. 

Much cake,

Limo


	24. much later that night, Thursday, Dec. 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U: jurgbury  
> LTTP: Atiki

U: Are you there?

U: I hate this chat. I can't tell if your* there or not. I'm so pissed.

U: *you're

LTTP: Survived your night out with that man who's absolutely not in love with his flatmate?

U: Yea, only just. I got him to drunk dial the flat mate. He left a six minute long message on his mobile. It started with a poem about the beauty of tight purple shirts and ended with him singing a Sam Smith song. God, those two are idiots.

LTTP: That sounds depressing and way too socially challenging for my liking.

LTTP: Merry Christmas, by the way.

U: Sorry, I was away. Drinking. The flatmate situation was depressing me, too.

U: The flatmate showed up at the bar, deduced I was in love and planning on shagging her tonight because I'm wearing new, red pants. I'm on my way home.

U: He always gets something thong.

U: *wrong

U: I'm almost home. Can you tell me where you are? What you're wearing? ;-D

LTTP: Shouldn't you be engaging in festive domestic activities? Maybe visit your approximately twelve children and exchange random Christmas gifts?  
  
LTTP: I spent the afternoon being observed by a Vietnamese intelligence official. I observed him back while threateningly devouring a croissant until he got scared and left. It was moderately entertaining. Now I'm in my room waiting for a phone call that will never actually come.

LTTP: Telling you where I am would probably corrupt the integrity of the British government. I'll tell you that much: It's warm, mushy and moist. And I fail to see why it's relevant what I'm wearing.

U: You've never done this before, have you?

U: I'm trying to...well...feel warm, mushy and moist with you. Sexting. Or cybersex. I've been thinking about you, about doing this with you, ever since the bloke's annoying flat mate deduced I was wearing red pants.

U: I wore them for you.

U: They have little umbrellas and bowler hats on them.

LTTP: Cybersex? No, I definitely haven't done this before. Although I think a business acquaintance of mine (that elderly Corgi owner I told you about) once tried. It was rather alarming. She isn't really the type for latex stockings.  
  
LTTP: How does one do that? Would it help if I told you that thinking about your bowler hat pants is rather... stimulating for me?

U: Well, the few times I did it before, is simply to imagine what I'd do to you if I were there. You've mentioned you wear smug suits. Imagine I'm unbuttoning your jacket. Your vest. Imagine with your shirt off, I am kissing you, in between feeding you pieces of cake.

U: and you're licking the cake and frosting off my fingertips

LTTP: Is this what you're always like when you're inebriated? I am indeed wearing a smug suit. Well, now I'm partly wearing it. It's getting mushy and moist underneath, and I find that strangely intriguing.  
  
LTTP: I imagine running my fingers through your crème rinsed hair and I am wondering if there's hair anywhere else on your body. Could you get undressed at your earliest convienience so I can find out?

LTTP: Am I doing this right?

U: you are very much doing this right.

U: my silver hair, a little wavy, appreciates you weaving your hands through it. I've taken off everything but my pants. I'm lying in my bed, with my laptop on my relatively flat stomach.

U: relatively, because since I've started chatting with you, I eat more.

U: I'm having to adjust myself in my pants....just thinking about you touching my cake*

U: *cock

LTTP: I'm moving myself into a horizontal position right now. Getting my suit off. Struggling with my braces a bit.

LTTP: I think my schlock would like to touch yours.

LTTP: *cake

LTTP: *cock

U: I can't stop giggling. It's hard to type and rub my schlock/cock/cake at the same time.

U: It's very hard, but only for you.

U: I would kiss you, from the top of your head, to the tips of your toes.

U: would you bring your umbrella to bed?

LTTP: I would if you asked me to. Oh God. I want to kiss you. Your mouth, your hair, your nipples, your semi-flat stomach. God, I want to kiss the tip of your schlock. Would you like having the tip of your cake kissed?  
  
LTTP: *cock

LTTP: I suppose I should refer to it as a schlockocake to avoid further confusion.

U: I would take the umbrella, leather handled of course, and rub it up and down your ribcage. Across your nipples. Teasing you. Under and over your thighs.

U: Then, when you are quivering and begging, I would rub the cake flavored lubricant I bought all over the umbrella handle.

U: don't worry, I'd work you open with my cake covered fingers first.

U: then, I would drive you insane with just the tip of the umbrella, in and out of your quivering hole, hitting your prostate, until the only thing you can cry out is my name.

U: Grey-Z

LTTP: oh dear lord.

LTTP: oh

LTTP: Would you be interested in replacing the umbrella with your...

LTTP: ...thing?

U: Yes, yes I am. I'm wanking into my tight fist, imagining it's you. It smells of sex, latex, and cake in here.

U: I never thought I'd get over Myc-

U: oh...it's so tight and moist. Are you close? I wish I knew more of what you looked like. The places I could run whipped cream on and make you squirm and moan.

U: Oh, I am. Touch yourself, imagine I'm there, pushing myself into you as I wrap my hand around your cake/cock/schlong and your thrusting back and forth at the same time.

LTTP: Trust me, it doesn't matter what I look like at that point. I am extremely wet, tight and mushy right now and your hot, hard clock feels so good inside me.

LTTP: I can actually smell the cake flavoured lube, might be hallucinating, I suppose I'm on the verge of brain death, or... or--

LTTP: uhh LWOo9wql s

LTTP: I suspect I might be approaching orgasm, please do continue.

U: Touch yourself, run your fingers over your nipples, imagine I'm kissing you. Imagine I taste like cake. I'm pounding into you now, sucking on your neck, moaning, whispering filthy things into your ear.

U: you are my little, gorgeous, moist cupcake. My pretty boy. Please, come for me. Feel me, pushing into you. Please, I xcghbdgh

U: oh my god. Oh my umbrella loving man who pisses off nations for a living. Oh my ohmygod bbcthree fog BBC three Twitter

U: I've got cap kebab dammit cake crumbs and lube all over my keyboard.

U: limo, are you there?

U: are you ok?  
  
LTTP: I am... oh I think I saw

LTTP: That's impossible.

LTTP: I must have been out cold for at least three minutes. I think I had a near death experience.<<<

LTTP: I might have found my apostolate and it approves of you tasting like cake, in fact it approves of you in general. Oh, my wonderful crème rinsey silver fox, I would trade a thousand cupcakes to be close to you.

LTTP: *prostate

U: I am so glad you're ok, my moist little cupcake. I would shave my head, give up my creme rinse, anything to be close to you. To hold you tonight. 

U: leave the chat window open. 

U: I'll hold the computer while I fall asleep, you leaving it open will be like you're here, my dear cupcake. 

U: Can't wait until I can touch your umbrella for real. 

U: I Hope you feel the same. 

U: Goodnight, my dearest, sweetest cupcake.

LTTP: Goodnight, my silver-haired beauty.


	25. Friday, Dec 26th

Dear Limo, 

I'm a little embarrassed to review last night's chat log. Frankly, I'm a little itchy as well. Cake + cake flavored lubricant + leather umbrella handles have equalled quite the reaction on my backside. 

I finally told the bloke, John, who is not in love with his flat mate, that I'm not exactly straight. He broke down and said the same thing, finally admitting he really is in love with his flat mate. Told him to stop singing Sam Smith into the flat mates voicemail, and actually tell him. Who knows what he will do. 

See you online again soon?

Umbrella


	26. Monday, Dec. 29th

Limo, 

I haven't heard from you in a while. Did I completely misread you? Did I misread us? I assumed you were enjoying yourself on Christmas. You seemed to enjoy it, and you asked me not to stop. 

However, since I haven't heard from you in a few days, it's given me time to think. Did I offend you with using and discussing cake flavored lube? Was it the umbrella that was defiled as a sex object? Or, are you upset that I destroyed a perfectly good cake by sitting on it and putting a perfect impression of my behind into it? 

I miss hearing from you. I find myself thinking about you every moment of the day. I walked by a bakery on the way to work and the blood rushed to my cock so fast I almost hit the pavement face first. 

You have done something to me, and I'm so happy for that. 

Write back soon?

Always and forever, your dearest silver fox,  
Umbrella (or, Grey-Z) 


	27. Thursday, Jan. 1st

Dear Limo:

Happy New Year!

I miss you. I'm never going to give you up. I'm never going to let you down. I'm never going to stop trying to use dessert to seduce you. 

Can we go back to what we had before Christmas? Talking about cake and lube and umbrellas and whatnot?

If I overstepped, let me know. We can use a safeword or phrase that will put icewater on it quickly.

Like carrot cake? Or poncho? Or I just made tea in the microwave instead of the kettle?

Write soon, 

Your creme rinse -  
Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3-11-15
> 
> DID NO ONE CATCH THAT I RICK ROLLED YOU??


	28. Wed. Jan 7

U: Limo?

U: My sweetest, wettest, lube covered cupcake?

U: I went to a crime scene today. There was a murder scene in a bakery. I cried for the pastries. 

U: I was hopeful.

U: I wore red pants. 

U: Have a good day, wherever you are.


	29. Thursday, Jan. 15th

Dear Umbrella, 

I am so sorry for my delay in communication. For my delay making you think that your references to cake (or soggy cake covered in lubricant) were unwelcome. Rather than that being the fact, the opposite was indeed true. Everything discussed over Christmas kept me going.

I'm closer to being able to meet you in person. However, I am delayed by an unfortunate accident. As part of my work I am required to deal with matters of an international importance. To be severely injured rather than deal with the imbeciles any longer was, as they say, _le meilleur des deux_. 

I was forced to, sadly, set fire to a cake favored lube factory to ensure my escape and the end of the business dealings. The smell of burning flesh and cake lubricant, I can assure you, is not a smell one can simply dismiss very easily. 

I will be in hospital a few more days and then, mercifully, I'll be allowed to go home. I'm quite tired of men manhandling me, declaring how lovely I smell or how much they wished I'd saved some of the product from the fire to use now while bored. 

There is only one person that I want near me. There is only one person that I would allow to use burnt cake flavored lube on my pinkened skin. 

I am not good at all at expressing myself. But when I was afraid I might not make it, your words were what came to mind. You have soothed me. 

I just wished I didn't smell like a stripper bathed in cake. There are far too many male nurses in here for my liking. 

Yours,  
Limo


	30. Friday, Jan. 16th

Limo:

I bet you smell delicious. I mean, I'm sorry you got hurt, and I'm sorry you have so much male attention it's annoying. But I was worked up into such a state I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from you again. I thought I'd misread us. I'm glad I was wrong. 

Are you ready to meet me? I mean, is your work or your life at a place we could see one another? I have been at a strip club that focused on cake, so that would be a welcome distraction. People dress as cake and then strip from there. As you feel better, we could plan on that. Unless the cake smell would cause unpleasant memories. 

I wondered why I couldn't buy any cake flavored lube. The store indicated there was a manufacturing accident that reduced the supply. I'm so happy you survived. 

I'll have to use the unflavored kind of lube for now. Darn. 

Take care of yourself. Keep the boys away,  
Umbrella


	31. Saturday, Jan. 17th

Umbrella:

Yes. Meeting sometime in the future does sound possible. However, meeting at a cake strip club sounds a bit....well....dangerous. I'm not seriously injured but I cannot wait to get away from all the attention. When I'm back home I can take care of myself. As I'm used to doing. 

Tell me something true. There has been a lack of truth in my life lately. One of my aides encased my stapler in gelatin in an effort to "cheer me up" and I am quite cross. Life is speeding away from me and I'm unsure where I fit in. 

Have you heard of a golden banana? How about the inside out doughnut hole? Or the backflip slip and slide?

Google is down so I thought I'd ask you. 

 

Tell me something true,

Limo_to_the_prostate


	32. Sunday, Jan. 18th

Dear Limo,

Do you still smell like cake? I was kicking my car tires today while eating a doughnut. I thought about you, and how you're probably not feeling well enough to kick car tires. Or eat doughnuts. 

Something true? Well, I went to a wedding this weekend. The flatemates that swear they're only friends? They eloped. They bloody ducking eloped. I lost the goddamn pool. I swore we were going to catch them shagging in my office, or a closet, or in one of the corpse freezers. But, no, one of my coworkers, Anderson, won £800 from the rest of NSY. He is a closet romantic and swore the whole time they'd elope. So, when they returned and we threw them an informal party, I had to pay up. £50. I'm not very happy. 

The man I was in love with? I don't know if I ever told you. He's the older brother of the flatmate who is a genius. It was difficult seeing him. I've spent so much time working on turning off my feelings for Mycroft that it's been difficult at times to be cordial. I still want to be friends with him, but after having unrequited feelings for so long it can be tiring on the nerves. 

I did a creme rinse and put my hair in curlers overnight. I also did an expensive facial with cucumber oil and eel skin. It's the newest rage. I'm not sure when we will meet, but I want to look as handsome as possible. 

Please take care and rest up. I can't wait until you're well enough for company. 

Yours,  
Umbrella


	33. Monday, Jan. 19th

L: Umbrella? Are you there? 

L: As part of my next set of government work I'll be making this site alert one when the other partner is online. 

U: Sorry to make you wait!

U: Let me put my Amazon order away. 

U: I'm embarassed, but I'm stocking up until we can finally meet in person. Certain items to keep us entertained together. 

U: How are you feeling?

L: My neck and backside are scraped. I can't sit properly.

U: I wish you couldn't sit properly for an altogether different reason. >:-0 

L: Again with the emoticons. 

U: You secretly love it. 

L: Isn't it late where you are? What are you doing?

U: A string of murders have kept me working round the clock. I'm finally getting to relax a little bit. I've been looking forward to chatting with you all day. I was standing thigh deep in sewer water and I felt lucky to know you.

U: I'd be very depressed if you weren't in my life. 

U: Even now, you mean more to me, a blank face on a computer screen, than thousands of other people.

U: You aren't stressing yourself too much, are you?

L: No. I'm just, surprised. I find my heart rate doubling when I talk to you. My respirations tripling. My mouth becomes dry. I can't focus. I thought I was ill. My doctor suggested my symptoms were from something else.

U: What?

L: I'll tell you in person, someday. I hope. 

U: Yes, I hope too.

L: Don't close this window. Leave it open. Let me imagine you here as I fall sleep. 

U: I will. 

U: Sleep well.

U: for the record, you make my heart pound wildly and my breath stop in my chest. I know what I'm suffering from.

U: Goodnight. 

L: Umbrella, I need to tell you something, are you there?

L: I must confess that I am really 

L: Are you there

L: Goodnight


	34. Tues. Jan 20

Dear Umbrella,

Thank you for staying with me last night. Electronically, at least. It's funny how a hospital that's full of people can grow lonely. 

I was grinning at my computer screen this morning. I was thinking of all the ways you could've made fun of me. You could've teased me about my love of cake, or hounded me about my love ~~fetish usage~~ of umbrellas. You didn't do any of those things. You took me as I am, and for that I am eternally grateful. 

I am healing, and I hope to convalesce in my parents house for a while once I am well enough. I am growing more and more comfortable with the idea of seeing you in person. I just have to get my body well enough to agree. 

If you were here, what would you do? Would you lightly pour frosting out on my torso and my belly, licking it up like a cat with your tongue? Or would you feed me cupcakes as we talked to each other in our own language we will make up? Or would we massage each other, grinding into each other's mouths, tasting of honey cake?

I've had to hide my computer again from the nurses. My heart monitor keeps going off. 

I hope I will not disappoint you when we meet. 

Limo


	35. much later, Tuesday, Jan. 20th

Dear Limo,

You are killing me. Softly. 

If you were here, I would roll you up in dough, like a cannoli. I would fill that dough with our favorite frostings. Everything we've talked about. Chocolate macaroon, coconut surprise, blue cherry cheesecake, young-virgin-on-the-sea flavored lolly pops, very plum plum, I would swallow you down with a rough tongue like the grumpiest cat. Like a CWB toy. I'd be a mad Lori for you. A Marlowe full of Wendys. An auror so silent I would ghost kisses up and down your thighs, your puckered...... Piece of cheesecake. With some earl gray tea ~~86\. 68~~ 69\. Would you play my prettysailorsoldier while striking a homlesianpose?

There is a distantstarlight I imagine I can see in your eyes. I think upon this constantly. I shake with antici......

 

 

 

......pation. I cannot wait to touch you. To feel you under my fingertips. To rub my abnormally handsome face across your stomach, the dip in your hips, the dimples of your buttocks. I cannot stop thinking of you. Every moment. Of every day. I think of you. Be a SailorChibi and tell me you think of me, too. That your mind is Blancheduke when you think of me too long. When we have sex please take me to a place of pureimaginatrix. I hope we go at it so much that your wrist and palms ache from all the frosting being stirred. 

Tell me when you are well enough for me. 

My dearest, sweetest, cupcake. 

Yours,

Umbrella

Watch out for snakes in your shower. I would hate to suck venom from your groin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes. to whatever you were thinking. 2pm is good for me, too.


	36. Wednesday, Jan. 21st

Dear Umbrella, 

I hope you're happy. Thinking about the cannoli, the frosting, everything - caused the alarms on my body to go off. I'm on strict bedrest and a zero cake diet, so any mention of cake sets the alarms going. I kept having to read your email in fits and starts. I was able to finish your email but not _finish_ finish due to being around all these people. Though, I am so desperate I may just show myself off. 

I am becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of seeing you in person. I was extremely hesitant at first but there have been developments in my life that have been encouraging me to become more open. My brother, insufferable as he is, has taught me that waiting for the love of one's life is a fruitless endeavor and causes heartache. When you want something, you should ask for it, as the rewards far outweigh the risk. 

Yours,   
Limo


	37. Thur, Jan 22

Dear Limo,

I am, in fact, tremendously happy about your physical reactions, although your situation is very unfortunate, of course. I’m sorry those nurses prevent you from releasing your cake-sensitive inner berserk. That must be frustrating and I sympathize. The only time I had to endure constant medical supervision was when one of my random children attacked me with a plastic water gun. It had the shape of a farting, bass tuba playing purple hippopotamus (the water gun, not my child - most of my approximately 18 children are surprisingly aesthetically pleasing). The water gun hit me right above my left nipple and I had to get stitches. It hurt like duck.

Anyway. When we finally meet, it will be my pleasure to help you… add whipped cream to the cake in your pants, if you know what I mean. Gosh, now I could _really_ use some of that cake-flavoured lube. Reading your emails always makes me excited.

I’m really looking forward to our meeting and I’ll probably cut down on the cake sexting for your nurses’ sake. Or not, because narrative consistency is so two years ago. So please feel free to imagine a big juicy nougat doughnut with white chocolate frosting and multi-coloured sugar sprinkles snuggled down cozily in your... armpit.

Yours,  
Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purchase a farting bass tuba playing purple hippopotamus water gun [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)!
> 
> This episode was sponsored by ~~the evil dwarf in Atiki's ear~~ Mark Gatiss' new moustache.


	38. Friday, Jan. 23rd

Dear Umbrella:

Now that I am back at my parents' house, in England, I can be by myself. I can think about frosting and lube and let my body naturally do what it does. Drool. From all kinds of openings. 

I think of you constantly. Of what to say, of what not to say. Of what is too much, of what is not enough. I never expected to find this, actually. Someone who wouldn't think my love of cake was a hindrance, but would fully join me in the endeavor. Someone who wouldn't change me, but would be willing to change the sheets when they get sticky. 

I had to use an umbrella when leaving the car to get into the house. I nearly passed out. I remembered the feel of it, how it would look in that perfect, peachy arse of yours. I imagine you are perfect in every way. I can't wait to see it. I can't wait to use all of my tools and fantasies with you. 

I hope you're as lovely as I've imagined, and I hope I don't disappoint you. If you're worried about your looks, which is why you haven't shown photos, stop worrying. I imagine the creme rinse has done wonders to offset the wrinkles that 10 children (give or minus 5) are inevitable to cause. 

See you in about a week?

Limo


	39. Saturday, January 24th

Dear Limo,

A week?! I’ll clear my schedule! Not that there’s much on it except crème rinse and murder, but I will clear the hell out of it to make room for you and your cake and your drooling. If a corpse attempts to keep me from you, I swear I will kill it.

I am glad you are finally free to unleash the sugary powers slumbering in your private parts. No better place for a grown man to eject liquids from various body openings than his parents’ home! It's only decent. (This is my way of telling you I’m happy you’re recovering and back in England.)

I think of you as well. Quite a lot actually. I’m constantly fighting the urge to canoodle with all sorts of cakes because they remind me of you. I’m already covered in chocolate frosting.

Are you fit for visitors? Now that you’re home I could just jump onto a train and come to see you. Or maybe not, because that would take the edge off the dramatic climax of this story. _Climax_ , hehe. See what I did there? You can take this multiple ways.

I’m really not worried about my appearance. I’m a smooth, wiry, crème rinsed silver fox and my arse is tremendously peachy, even without an umbrella in it. 

See you soon!

Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode was brought to you by [Marshmallow Willies](http://www.amazon.com/Merchandise-24-7-Marshmallow-Willies/dp/B00CJBQC00/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1430169586&sr=8-3&keywords=penis+sweets)! Don't even ask what I googled to find those.


	40. Sunday, Jan. 25th

L: I am wondering if you are there. 

L: or if I'm alone with a jar of cake frosting.

U: I'm here! It must be boring. Recuperating. I'm excited. By the thought you are so close. Are you at least in England?

L: yes. I am at my parents house. My nauseatingly in love brother is here helping take care of me. I shooed him away. He's probably deduced where I've rubbed the frosting and what I'm doing with it, but I can't help myself. 

L: thoughts of touching your umbrella. For real. 

U: Deduced...that's an interesting word. 

L: where are you?

U: Home. I have a mask on my face and cutlets in my hair. I want to look pretty for you when we meet. 

U: dammit. Curlers. 

L: cutlets might be good. I do like meat. 

U: speaking of meat, when do you think we can meet?

L: I will have to clear it with my doctor. The injuries when I fell in that cake accident need to be healed fully before I can travel into London. 

U: I hope it's soon. 

L: I as well. 

U: I can't wait to taste you. To put frosting on your neck and kiss you. To call you my little cupcake in person. To feel you under me as we lay in bed with our umbrella covered in lube. 

L: I'm so glad you didn't laugh when I told you I loved cake and umbrellas. I'm happy you share those dildoes. 

L: peccadilloes. Damn auto correct. 

U: though, I imagine we will share dildoes as well. 

L: yes. And water guns shaped like penises. And drinking bottles shaped like penises. 

U: why would we do that?

L: they don't make them in umbrella shapes. 

U: oh. 

L: what do you imagine our first time will be like?

U: Hot. Sticky. Goopy. 

L: I'm liking this frosting from my fingers, imagining it's you. 

U: yes. I'm running my hands over my nipples, my hair, I'm so pretty. You're going to love touching me so much. 

L: ....

L: There are no words. 

L: will you dress up in leiderhosen and kiss me like I'm a blow up chinchilla?

U: yes. God yes. Anything you want. 

L: even carrot cake? 

U: yes. You need to get healed. We need to meet. Soon!

L: yes. I will let you know. As soon as the doctor sees me. 

U: yes. Goodnight, my sweet cupcake. 

L: goodnight, my creme rinse.


	41. Monday, Jan. 26th

Dear Umbrella,

Has anyone told you that your marvelous? Even as I lay here, ill, with my ass in a sling and my body supported by pillows, all I can think of is you. What is the color of your hair? Did you ever play rugby? Cricket? Table tennis? What are your children like? How many children do you really have? (Is the equation still ুপরহ ৯;:৩ ۷۸۹ ۵ to determine how many children you really have?)

You've been honest with me. I'm not used to honesty, affection, sentiment. I am used to being alone, annoyed, and running minor governments secretly into ruin. These feelings I have for you terrify me. Will we lose everything we've built when you meet me? Will you be disappointed? I'm terrified by what will happen. I don't want you to....

Well, I should have more news soon on my condition. The frosting is doing wonders to ease my skin. 

As I lay here, I wonder how your hair is. Is it still shiny and beautiful?

Yours, Limo. 

Please write back soon. Please.


	42. Monday, Jan. 26th 10 minutes later

Umbrella,

Please. Ignore my last email. Except the part where I ask you to write back soon. 

I have been left alone too long. My thoughts are ~~manakin~~ and dull. 

Dammit. ~~Manalin.~~   
Fuck. ~~Mandolin.~~

Oh for gods sakes. I hate emotion. It makes me mopey and irritable. 

Limo.


	43. Monday, January 26th, later that evening

Dear Limo,

I don’t care if you’re being Mandarin. I rather like it, actually. You’ve become very important to me.

Our first date is all I can think about. Believe me, I’m so distracted! Yesterday I accidentally ate the vanilla doughnut I found in the handbag of a strangled woman because I kept thinking about your vanilla cake-lube covered arse. The mad fucker I told you about (the one who tapes case files and cheese sandwiches on his walls and shags his crazy soldier husband seven ways to nirvana) yelled at me for five minutes straight because I was “destroying evidence”. It was delicious, though. I can only hope the flavour of your actual arse comes close.

You don’t know what colour my hair is? I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but "silver fox” was actually a bit of a clue.

I do play rugby, though irregularly these days. I’m quite fond of it. I’m always really sweaty and full of mud afterwards, and if I don’t feel filthy enough I just pour half a bottle of chocolate sauce over my head and dance to the Village People for half an hour before I scrub my entire body in the shower. Thoroughly. (That is something you should imagine, by the way.) Speaking of sports, I’m also great at Pétanque and toe wrestling.

Please stop worrying about disappointing me. I don’t care if you’re bald or tremendously hairy or secretly a rusty letterbox. As long as you’re honest with me and your arse is as amazing as I think, it will work out just fine.

I'm so glad you're doing better. Please keep wanking yourself back to health. -- Doctor's orders. (I'm not a doctor, but you get the idea.)

Umbrella

P.S. The number of my children varies. There are more of them at full moon and sometimes an additional one appears over the course of the Easter holidays. Yeah, I can’t explain it either. I've never seen that equation, though. 

P.P.S. Yes, my hair is still shiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sponsored by the one and only [Screaming Orgasm Cocktail Sucker](http://www.amazon.com/Hott-Place-Screaming-Orgasm-Cocktail/dp/B00KTLWMQK/ref=sr_1_1?s=hpc&ie=UTF8&qid=1430513028&sr=1-1&keywords=screaming+orgasm+cocktail+sucker). Don't ask how I found that. Don't you dare.


	44. Tuesday, Jan. 27th

Dear Umbrella,

I am happy to follow doctor's orders. I am also happy to keep myself as well as possible so I can see you soon. I've been scrubbed within an inch of my life. All the frosting is finally gone from every crevice of my body, and I'm feeling more and more like my snarky self every day. I've begun bossing my annoying git of a brother again. He doesn't listen to me, but it feels good to do it. 

I am glad you do not mind the times I am angry, or the times I am mercurial, or the times I am magnanimous, or the times I am mecipcorpus. I am grateful you are here, you listen. I ever hope that I am not a disappointment when we meet. You seem so wonderful, glorious, indeed, a "silver fox", I cannot breathe. I cannot wait for when we can lay eyes on one another. 

Take care my darling. Eat an umbrella-decorated cake for me,

Your-limo-to-the-prostate 

Ps. I saw a review on Amazon for some penis straws. I bought us each one. I hoped we could use them at our first dinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here is Atiki's daily recommendation (added to jurgbury's chapter because I'm a shameless little rice cake):[You can purchase amazingly realistic penis straws here!](http://www.amazon.com/Dicky-Drinking-Penis-Straws-Party/dp/B00MIL41UO/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1430605162&sr=8-3&keywords=penis+straws) I'm sure they're great to... suck milky substances out of all kinds of... crevices. I'll shut up now.
> 
> (I'm not getting paid by Amazon to promote useless dick shaped products, by the way. But since you're already here, you should check out the [Mini Peenie Erasers](http://www.amazon.com/Bachelorette-mini-peenie-erasers-12pc/dp/B00DNW7KRI/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1430605658&sr=8-2&keywords=dick+shaped%22). Rubbing out your mistakes has never been so much fun!


	45. Tuesday, January 27th, later that evening

Dear Limo,

Great to hear that you’re finally getting rid of all that sugary mucus all over your body! I investigated the murder of a wealthy pastry chef this afternoon. He’s been stabbed with a raspberry flavoured candy cane. It reminded me of you.

I am insanely glad to hear that your everlasting medical jerk is going well. I do hope someone’s washing your covers regularly, though. It’s a pain in the arse to lie in a bed covered in fluids. When I was about fifteen, I liked to slurp whipped cream out of all kinds of longish… vessels in bed at night. I made quite a mess and my mother got an entirely wrong impression. It’s not fun, being on the receiving end of “the talk” while trying to hide a twenty gallon plastic tank of whipped cream under your mattress.

You must know that I’m always happy to listen to your nonsensical rambling about whatever the hell is going on inside your cake-addled head. I’m absolutely sure that you won’t disappoint me. No reason to be self-conscious. I’m still looking forward to seeing your arse.

See you very soon!

Umbrella

P.S. Penis straws! How exciting. Are there matching arse bottles to put them into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m slowly running out of penis shaped bullshit to promote but please do consider [this fabulous vase](http://www.amazon.com/OUTT-Penis-Vase-P9925-Shaped/dp/B00PLXQXYI/ref=sr_1_47?ie=UTF8&qid=1430511233&sr=8-47&keywords=penis+shaped)!


	46. Wednesday, Jan. 28th

Dear Umbrella,

I'm healing nicely. Thank you for understanding about the lack of photos, about the lack of information. About the need for this narrative to keep going how we must still be secretive about one another. 

I'm changing my sheets frequently and my pants even more frequently. I have a 20 liter drum of lubricant that is nearly unflavored (just vanilla) so it washes off easily. It actually works quite well as a massage oil for my aching.......Achilles tendon.

Write soon?

Limo


	47. Wednesday, Jan. 28th, later that evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode inspired by [ This other fic by Wendymarlowe. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3566555)

U: Limo, are you there?

U: I've had a shit day and I could use someone to chat with. 

L: I'm here. Since I'm practically glued to my bed, I leave my computer and chat window up all the time. Easier that way. 

L: My parents put me in a bed with rubber sheets. Highly inconvenient. 

U: why rubber sheets?

L: easier for cleanup. 

U: oh. 

L: What happened? What was so upsetting?

U: Well, you know that crazy married bloke that's always pinning shit to his walls when he helps me out? Well, he had a fight with his significant other and I nearly had to incarcerate him. 

L: What was he doing? 

U: He was mumbling over and over about viscosity, texture, ability to last, friction, he was going on and on... quite angry in fact.

L: Did he and his husband have a fight?

U: um

U: Did I tell you he was married to another bloke?

L: Well...

L: I thought maybe you did. Or I assumed. 

U: ok.

[no typing for 3 minutes]

L: Well, what was wrong about today?

U: Just, it... I guess I felt lonely. I wished you were actually here to talk to, to hear your voice, to cuddle with.

L: I wish I were, too. 

U: The crazy bastard has been running around making his OWN LUBE for god's sakes. Special formulas, different types. And he was upset because his husband wasn't going to be home to try them until after the case was done. 

L: I imagine that upset you, because we aren't physically together?

U: yes. The mad bastard made tea flavored lube. His husband's favorite kind. 

L: of lube?

U: of tea. 

L: He made lube, out of tea?

U: Well, lube flavored tea. 

L: ?

U: Er, tea flavored lube. 

U: I just. 

U: it just hit me that as mad, insane, annoying as that git is, he spent all this time to make the perfect lubricant for he and his husband. I would make you cake flavored lube, any kind, that we could try on each other. But it makes me sad. You aren't here to...

L: I know. 

U: If I could, make the perfect lube, I think it would be a raspberry flavored cake. Or strawberry. Something fruity with a cream cheese frosting. I think you'd like that. 

L: I think I would. 

L: If you were there to help me try it. 

U: I've got to go. 

U: I really wish you were here. 

L: As do I. 

U: Goodnight my cupcake. 

L: Goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, jurgbury here. On my end there will be a hiatus. Real life will be a bit much for a while. Don't despair... We always finish!


	48. Thursday, Jan. 29th

Dear Umbrella:

I've been cleared! There is no lasting effect of the goo of cake or lubricant. I can safely venture out for a date. I would say tomorrow, but I want time to pull myself together. 

Would Saturday work? I'm willing to go anywhere in London. I'm not up for anything physical. But I want and need to see you. To convince myself that this is real. 

Limo


	49. Thursday, Jan. 29th, later that evening

Dear Limo,

That's marvelous news! I'm free Saturday. No kids this weekend. (Give or take the 15 I last knew about). 

I want you at your very best for our first kiss and cake tasting experience. 

Where do you want to meet?

Umbrella


	50. Friday, January 30th

Dear Umbrella,

I don’t care where we meet. I’m not inclined to get emotionally invested in minor details, such as location and environment, or the number of random children crouching under the table. I want privacy. I want cake. I want you.

\- Limo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to today's generous sponsor – [penis pepper seeds](http://www.amazon.com/Peter-Pepper-Red-Hot-seeds/dp/B003OOBI0A/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1433455499&sr=8-2&keywords=penis+pepper+seeds)! Make your dream come true and grow your own dicks in grandma’s flower bed!


	51. Friday, Jan 30th, evening

Limo,

6pm tomorrow. There is a bakery down the street from my flat. _The Drunken Cupcake_. It's private, room for us to talk. Cake, you and I, no kids. (At least, I hope not)

I can't believe you're here. That you're coming. (Well, that you'll be coming after our cake dinner)

Umbrella


	52. Friday, January 30th, later evening

Dear Umbrella,

I'm coming. In multiple ways, hopefully.

-Limo


	53. Sat. Jan 31st, Very Late

L: Greg, I deserved that.

L: The cupcake to the groin, the face, even wrestling around with you covered in frosting on the cement floor. 

L: Greg, I'll leave this window open, just in case.


	54. Monday, Feb. 2nd

Dear Greg,

I'm sorry. Those are the words you're waiting for, right?

I was terrified. I knew it was you, after the first few letters. After I saw the way you were with cake. And umbrellas. After you mentioned me by name. After I caught the scent of creme rinse in your hair and the way you never knew how many children you had. 

I'm sorry. I was terrified. I thought we could talk it out over drunken cupcakes of chocolate and bourbon. 

Mycroft


	55. Mon. Feb 2nd, Later that evening

L: Greg, I never lied to you

L: I hid who I was, because I was scared

L: but I never lied about how I felt about you. 

L: how I felt about you and lubricant and cake and umbrellas

L: I would give up umbrellas for you

L: I would give up fancy lubricant for you

L: please

L: I'll leave this open

L: Greg

L: I would give up cake for you


	56. Tuesday, Feb. 3rd

Greg,

I tried to call but my number is blocked. I went to NSY but John and Sherlock were walking out and my insufferable git of a brother punched me when I tried to get in the elevator to go to your office. He made it clear I'm to go nowhere near you. That I've broken your heart and your trust. 

You must know that I've loved you from afar. That I wanted to talk to you, but I had no idea how to start such a conversation. I've been a lonely, silly man who eats cake alone near my fireplace. I lick frosting off my fingers while I prevent world war three, and I dream of mahogany umbrellas while on boring conference calls with the queen. You were the bright spot in my days, whenever there was any excuse to run into you. 

I heard you'd joined a dating site, so with my network I'd arranged for us to meet on the site. I wanted to tell you so many times but I couldn't. I didn't want to lose what we had. I was a coward.

I would let Sherlock punch me 100 times. 10000 times if it meant you would let me apologize in person. I'm sorry. 

Please,

Mycroft


	57. Wednesday February 4th, very early morning

Mycroft,

Seriously? You actually expect me to forgive you? You thought we could _talk it out_ over alcoholically lubricated cupcakes? You think the fact that you fantasize about erotically snuggling your mahagony handles calms me down? Well, I have some news for you, you smug, impeccably groomed, umbrella-fucking bastard: You don’t even know what love is. I bet it was all a game for you. Ooh, look at stupid Greg pining from afar, let’s cyberfuck him vigorously and repeatedly remind him of the fact that he doesn’t know how many children he has until he falls in love with the same sadistic cake lube fanatic twice in a row.

Fuck you, Mycroft. It was hard enough getting over you for the first time. I suppose a part of me knew it was you right from the start, because all the clues were there and I’m an amazing Detective Inspector and I notice that kind of stuff when I’m not busy pining after faceless strangers on dating websites. I just didn’t want to face the truth.

Now get out of my miserable, cakeless, loveless life. You can keep the cupcake in your groin. It shall eternally remind you of the fact that you are a tasty, slimy dick.

Greg


	58. Thursday, Feb. 5th

Dear Greg,

Please. Forgive me. One more miracle. Do you remember the party a month ago, that John and Sherlock invited us both to? I couldn't help eavesdropping. You couldn't wait to "try a new cake flavor for a new man you'd met."

I watched out of the corner of my eye as you licked the icing from your fingers and shook the crumbs from your shirt. I almost reached out to brush them off myself, but I stayed my hand when you gave me a sharp look. 

Immediately after, Sherlock deduced you were in love with that man you'd met online. The one you kept rambling on about. I couldn't sleep that night. I was terrified of disappointing you when you found out we were one in the same. 

 

One more miracle. For me. 

Is Sherlock's deduction still true?

Mycroft


	59. Friday, February 6th

Mycroft,

Why would I believe anything you say? What’s the next big revelation you have in store for me? Are you legally married to your umbrella? Does your nose get bigger every time you lie to me? Or are you actually seven mushy gay pancakes in a trenchcoat? I feel like everything’s possible at that point!

Who the hell knows if Sherlcock was right! Why don’t you deduce it yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be smarter than him?

\- Angry Greg

P.S. Stop asking for a miracle. I spoke Spanish for you, counted my random children, had sex with a hypothetical umbrella handle and smeared frosting all over my dick, but I don’t work miracles. Deal with it.


	60. Friday, Feb 6th, late evening

Greg,

Here is how I will deal with it. If Sherlock were here, he would deduce that I am wildly, illogically, passionately, fascinatingly, tintilatingly, achingly in love with a silver foxed Detective Inspector. 

His deduction, as always, would be correct. 

Ever yours, (through cake, and lubricant, and children, and multiple broken umbrella handles) 

Mycroft Sherrinford Gregory Holmes 

 

P.S. The universe is rarely so lazy. Gregory was the name of my mother's favorite brother. He was kind, caring, strong, and beautiful. It is right that you share his name. And my greatest honor that I have his name, and yours, as my second middle name. In this way, and in all others, you are the best part of me. 


	61. Saturday, February 7th

Fine. You have one chance. Tomorrow, 8pm. The Drunken Cupcake again. And I swear to God, I will be armed with all sorts of slimy, sugary, edible weapons that will be used without hesitation, should the need arise.

And your name is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

\- Gregory Zalando Gonzalez Lestrade


	62. Sunday, Feb. 8th, 7:30 GMT

Greg,

Thank you. I hope we can settle our differences over some cake and in depth conversation. 

If this our last night, I will be honored to spend it holding your icing-sticky fingers and looking into your beautiful brown eyes. 

No matter what happens, thank you. Thank you for letting me apologize in person. 

Yours, 

Mycroft


	63. Mon. Feb 9th, first thing in the morning

Dear Mycroft Holmes, representative of the British Government:

We are pleased you have decided to purchase a year's supply of "Sexy Lubricants and Matching Cupcakes" from Amazon. These cupcakes will carry a year's worth of loving messages for you and your significant other. 

The first package will be a set of two iced buttercream cupcakes, tucked with a box of lightweight vanilla lubricant, paired with a card that reads:

"Dearest Love: Thank you. Thank you for loving me, for your sweet and dearest forgiveness. May these cupcakes and lubricant be used to remind us of how far we've come. And how much we love one another. With all my heart, Mycroft."

You should expect the first order to arrive within 48 to 72 hours. Please email us at least two weeks before the next shipment to personalize your next message. 

You can also upgrade the lubricant size, add condoms or bedroom toys, or adjust your order at anytime. Amazon has a variety of items to please the most romantic heart. 

Thank you for your business,

Amazon lubricant and cupcake services

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear readers, for joining us on this silly journey. We love you! This was such a joy to write together, and to interact with everyone in the comments. 
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Atiki & Jurgbury

**Author's Note:**

> This is a parody, crack fic and should be treated as such. There is no guarantee of continuity, proper grammar, or true correspondence to anyone living or dead. If I mention you by name in this fic, it is 100% pure coincidence. It also means I love you. But not in a creepy way. Just a sweet fangirl way. 
> 
> This episode is brought to you by [ Taron Egerton's thirst for Colin Firth ](http://youtu.be/hasKmDr1yrA)
> 
> I had a dream mark gatiss and Rupert graves read this out loud as part of a letters live event.
> 
> http://jurgbury.tumblr.com/post/118412465722/youve-been-tagged-greg-lestrade

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art/Album Cover] for jurgbury's and Atiki's "Dear Umbrella"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470471) by [BlancheDuke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlancheDuke/pseuds/BlancheDuke)




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